Paradise Peak (New Americana 5)

Travis’s steps slowed as they arrived at a deep, peaceful stream. A thin line of pine and cypress trees bordered the far side of the water, but the bank they stood on was clear.

“See that cabin to your left?” Red asked.

Travis glanced to his left, further up the dirt path, and noticed a two-story log cabin. A large deck extended from one side and a series of connected winding stairways led down to the bank of the river. Unlike the other cabins, this one was in pristine condition and well-loved if the decorative wind chimes and attractive landscaping were any indication.

“That’s Hannah’s place,” Red said. Turning back to the stream, he pointed across the river, at a higher elevation. “See that cabin up there? The one just inside the tree line?”

Travis glimpsed a small log structure between the trees’ thick branches. “Yeah.”

“That’s where you’re staying. It ain’t spiffy, but it’ll keep the elements off you.” Red walked to the edge of the stream and held up the lemon. “Use this and scrub up over here. This lemon will have you smelling good as new.”

Travis took the lemon half from Red, squatted by the water’s edge, plunged his hands in the icy stream, and scrubbed. As he worked, he watched the water ripple and swirl around his hands, roll over smooth rocks, and flow gently around a bend in the distance. A few minutes later, his hands were numb with cold but completely clean. He held his palms up and smiled as the sunlight glinted off the drops of water lingering on his fingers and the clean scent of fresh lemon drifted from his skin.

“See?” Red clapped him on the back. “Good as new. Thanks again for cleaning that mess of fish. You freed me up for a lot of other chores, and even though she’d never admit it, I know Hannah’s looking forward to a big trout dinner.” Red headed toward the dirt path and motioned for Travis to follow. “I’ll show you the way to your cabin. We’re not eating till five so you’ll have about three hours to shower and rest up before you come down to the main lodge.”

Five minutes later, after walking to the end of the dirt path, crossing the stream on a small wooden bridge, and hiking up a stone walkway through a tangle of underbrush and trees, they arrived at a shabby cabin.

“Like I said”—Red stomped the dirt off his boots on the narrow porch steps—“it ain’t fancy, but it’ll get you through the night.”

Travis eyed the aged structure and surrounding trees. Tipped his head back and looked at the blue sky. Listened to the breeze rustle through the leaves and savored the peaceful freedom that coursed through him at the thought of a cabin—a space—that would be all his own. For one night, at least.

He smiled. “Oh, it’s fine.”

Red opened the front door and led the way in, pausing to gesture around the small interior. “The bed’s a single and the bathroom’s through that door. This plumbing’s old but you’ll get a good, strong stream of running water in that shower. Margaret came up here a couple hours ago, put fresh sheets and a thick blanket on the mattress and clean towels, soap, and a few other toiletries in the bathroom cabinet. That fireplace will need cleaning before you light it. The Wi-Fi ain’t strong enough to reach up here, and there’s no phone. Sorry about that.”

Travis shook his head. “I don’t have a laptop or anything. I’ve been living off the grid for a while and prefer it that way. As for a phone . . .”

Well, he had no one to call.

Travis removed his bag from his shoulders and set it on a small desk by the door. He ran his hand through the thick dust covering the surface of the desk, eyed the chair beside it and the wide window above.

Red stepped toward the desk. “A guest requested that years ago. Now, I can get that out of your way to give you more room if—”

“No,” Travis whispered. “This is perfect. Just perfect.”

A satisfied expression moved over Red’s features and he eased past Travis. “Dinner’s at five on the back deck of the main lodge.” As he left, Red said over his shoulder, “Maybe by then, you’ll feel up to sharing a last name.”

Travis moved to the window and watched as Red walked down the porch steps, maneuvered his way along the stone pa

th, then disappeared below the thick shade of the trees. Reaching out, Travis palmed the edges of the window and, after discovering there was no lock, he tugged hard and pried it open.

A cool breeze swept in, dislodging a small cloud of dust, and rippled around the musty room. The smell of bark, pine sap, and smoke settled on the air. He could see the wide stream from here, caught the sunlit glimmer of fresh, mountain water, and Hannah’s deck and stairway were just visible between the trees lining his side of the stream.

Travis stared down at his clean hands, then walked into the tiny bathroom, stripped, and turned on the shower. There were clean towels, soap, and toiletries just as Red had said. After scrubbing every inch of his skin with soap and water, shampooing his hair and shaving, Travis felt a bit more whole. His hair, when he ran his hand through it, felt shaggy, but smelled a million times better.

He returned to the main living area, leaving the bathroom door ajar to air out the steam from his hot shower, and retrieved a clean pair of jeans and a long-sleeved flannel shirt from his bag. After dressing, he ran his palm over the plaid blanket Margaret had draped over the small bed. It was thick and warm, the comforting feel of it against his fingertips evoking a heavy tightness in his chest. He didn’t deserve her kindness; he wasn’t worthy of Red’s either.

Travis moved to the small desk, used a towel to remove the dust, then sat in the chair. He grabbed his bag and withdrew a stack of letters, stuffed in unmarked envelopes and bound with string, and placed them on the upper right corner of the desk. Then, he retrieved a pile of blank notebook paper and pens, arranged them on the desk’s surface to his liking, and picked up a pen.

Propping his elbows on the desk, Travis pressed the pen to paper and wrote as neatly as the tremor in his hand would allow.

Dear Margaret,

I found you today. Twenty years, seven months, and three days after we last saw each other. You looked me in the eyes, shook my hand, and smiled. You didn’t recognize the reckless boy I was in the man I’ve become. But I recognized you.

Your hair is gray now instead of blond. It’s still long. You were dressed as elegantly today as you always were in court. But even though you smiled, that same look you had in your eyes twenty years ago—the only time during the trial that you faced me—was still there. The look that said the world is cruel, and God is more cruel.

That same look was in Hannah’s eyes, too.